Of Cages and Immortality
by SiobhanSundering
Summary: Meh. Not even going to bother. It's ArwenxEowyn...'nuff said.
1. Chapter First

Disclaimer: I'm not JRR Tolkien, nor am I any of his opportunistic mooching offspring. Therefore, sadly, I hold no rights at all to Lord of the Rings.

  
  


A/N: Non-Canon. Way non-canon. This is an idea that's been in my head for quite some time now. The first chapter is short, but if I ever get around to completing it, there are going to be a large number of chapters. It's very much femme slash. People die. Now that that's been said, on to the story! You may have seen some of this before, I decided to add to the first chapter so it's longer now.

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Chapter First   
  


Along with her heart, Eowyn felt her legs begin to throb with prolonged misuse. It had been hours since the guests had begun to fill the sunny courtyard to the sound of the cheery songbirds of spring, and now many guests were shifting uncomfortably in their splendorous leathers and silks, their feet clearly sore, even as soft, silky white petals from the White Tree of Gondor swirled gently throughout the setting. Even as she watched the other guest's pampered discomfort out of the corner of a coldly grey eye with no little amusement from her space in the front row, she refused to move an inch herself. That would be a symbol of weakness, and a warrior did not show weakness. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, where, on the dais in front, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, had just been bound to Lady Arwen Undomniel, Evenstar of her people. Trying not to let the bitterness flood her heart once again, she smiled falsely, weakly, as she saw Aragorn smile brightly, love shining in his eyes only for his ever graceful elvish bride, who was...who was looking straight at her.

  
  


If Eowyn had chosen not to move before of her own volition, now she had no choice in the matter. It seemed as if those clarion eyes looked through and at her all at once, and every thought, every insecurity she had was laid bare for the beautiful elf; the shieldmaiden was held riveted by the new Queen of Gondor's eternal stare. Determined once again not to show the weakness and vulnerability she had always hidden deep inside herself, she held the elvish woman's sapphire-like eyes with her own orbs of stormy grey. Indeed, a battle of wills it was, she told herself; in actuality, Eowyn felt as if it wasn't her holding Arwen's gaze, but Arwen seizing the entirety of everything that Eowyn believed made herself who she was, and more besides, and read her like a tender lover caressing the familiarity of creamy skin.

  
  


Seemingly having looked, taken, possessed her fill, Arwen gave Eowyn a smile, melancholy in its grace, indolent in the promises it seemed to bestow to Eowyn's feverishly fascinated mind. Eowyn couldn't control herself; reflexively, she smiled in return. Satisfied that she had seen what she needed to see, Arwen half turned to take Aragorn's calloused but gentle hand in her own pale, slender fingers and came close to whisper in his ear. If at all possible, Aragorn's brilliantly white smile grew wider. His fingers tightened in Arwen's gentle clasp and they turned, the couple ready for some time alone. In unison, the large crowd burst into rowdy cheers, lords and soldiers alike joined in revelry at the promise of a glorious future. The shieldmaiden craned around to get a look at the motley crew assembled; Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood cheered at the side of Gimli, son of Gloin, appearing even more elegant and beautiful compared to the rowdy and gruff dwarf. 'Yet,' Eowyn thought to herself, 'Prince Legolas' beauty pales in comparison to the dark, polished richness of Arwen Undomniel. It is as a common flower, attractive in and of itself, pales in comparison to the sultry appeal of a dark rose.' Shocked to find herself thinking such thoughts, she tried to sort her mind out to see where this sudden admiration of the elvish lady had come from. She had loved Aragorn, in all his brash and oblivious courtesy, his wild courage, and his noble blood. It made no sense for her to appreciate Arwen's uncannily beautiful eyes, facial structure, and rich black hair, nor her quiet strength. Underneath all that gentle pacifism, Eowyn sensed, was a true warrior.

  
  


Abruptly, her musings were interrupted by a strong, large arm coming to rest gently across her shoulders. As the crowds cheered wildly about her, Faramir, Steward of Gondor, had eyes only for her. Her. He looked at her with such an unshakable love, and she was so ashamed that she could feel nothing in return. He kissed her chastely, and she accepted it, but felt no emotion, save for regret. She knew she did not love him, and what was more, he knew it too; perhaps over time, love would bloom. That seemed to be enough for Faramir. Perhaps over time, love would come, and that seemed to be enough for Faramir, and Eowyn? Eowyn was desperate for any connection to any human being, someone to hold on to.

  
  


Faramir slowly broke the kiss, and Eowyn realized that the crowd had begun to break up, relieved at finally being able to get off their feet. Offering his arm to Eowyn chivalrously, he wanted to walk her to her chamber. Slowly, Eowyn shook her head. Throughout the ceremony she had wanted nothing more than to get away from the courtyard and off her screaming feet, but now, her legs were itching for movement, for someplace where she'd be alone.

  
  


"I..wish for some time spent alone, Faramir. You do not mind terribly do you, my lord?" Silently she pleaded. She wanted to be alone, but she did not wish to hurt this kind, gentle man. 

  
  


"Of course not, lady. You'll come to dinner tonight?"

  
  


He spoke of the feast to celebrate...well nigh everything, of course. The defeat of Sauron, the return of Isildur's heir to Gondor, and of course, the joining. The cursed joining. As the sister of the new King of the Mark in Rohan, and, by all accounts and appearance, the soon to be bride of Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor, it was expected that she should go. And who was she to refuse? There was no reason to; Eowyn didn't think jealousy and bitterness would be accepted as a sufficient excuse to miss out on the festivities, although pleading sickness would be true enough. Around her, the shieldmaiden who feared living in a cage above all else felt something shifting into place; a gold gilded cage, an inescapable net woven by obligation and social expediency, and she wanted to vomit of the feel. Instead she smiled gently at Faramir. She knew the smile showed her fatigue and sadness, but she was thoroughly tired of putting up the false smiles, barriers used to divert attention. Surrounded by the signs of hope and renewal, happiness and levity, Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, had no more ability to deal with such inconsistent fallacies of the human emotion.

  
  


"Yes, Faramir, I will be there." Immediately, she noticed a marked change in the steward's face; his eyes lit up, and a smile took over his face. After bidding her farewell with fanciful phrase and a gentle kiss, he departed, heading for the citadel. 

  
  


With a gusty sigh escaping her lungs, Eowyn dropped all pretenses; she was alone at last. Feet that were ever so slightly unsteady led her without conscious thought or direction led her to the center of the courtyard built atop the jutting cliff; to the base of the might tree of Gondor, now in full bloom. Bypassing the slightly elevated rim holding the soil from which the tree bloomed with a step of her foot, she was at the base of the ancient growth, staring up at the gnarled bark, extended branches and flowering canopy.

  
  


Hard pressed though she was to conjure up any feelings of goodness at the current moment, she was forced to admire the purpose and beauty of the White Tree. By all outward appearances, it was naught but a normal tree, albeit of uncommon beauty; the singularity of its purpose clear, to lend an speck of life to an otherwise non organic place, to produce those white petals that flowed in their efflorescence at the ceremony. Why then, did it also act as a compass by which all fixed their hearts? 'Because its beauty attracts followers like honey does bees, like the Lady Arwen.' Sinking down to lean against the comforting solidarity of the tree, she tilted her head back; thoughts sorted themselves in her mind as she fell asleep to the gentle caress of silken petals gliding easily over her upturned face.

  
  


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She woke with a surprised start; her lap was nearly covered with the soft petals of the tree sheltering her; from what, she did not know. Sitting up with a jerk, petals cascaded down her robes as she stared at the quickly setting sun. Cursing, she calculated, figuring that if she hurried now, she could get to her chambers, get prepared, and still arrive at the feast on time. Standing, she brushed herself off, causing more petals to whip about in the breeze. Walking briskly across the abandoned stone courtyard, her robes whipped in the breeze.

  
  


From a chiseled window of the citadel, blue eyes regarded her at length with interest. Living sapphires watched the slightly disheveled, but always stoic Shieldmaiden of Rohan sweep out of the courtyard, white petals following her in her wake like thunder to lightning. With a slight smile, the figure turned, robes of palest blue trailing her as she exited her chambers.

  
  


In her own chambers, Eowyn was distinctly harried. It was one of those logical sequences where a long chain of unfortunate events had to occur before something good would happen, like: The One Ring is forged, Isildur becomes craven to it, so on so forth. It was a tale that all of Middle Earth was beginning to absorb, rote by rote writ on the lines of the hearts of the people. Self deprecating, she made a face in the mirror at herself. It was almost ludicrous to compare an event of that magnitude to her silly troubles; her chain more closely resembled this: Silly sap of a shieldmaiden falls in lust with scruffy heir dodging his duty for as long as he possibly could, gets insanely jealous of said heir's bride, and then in the next instant, jealous of said heir, and now, no dress fits well enough nor any color to be found that goes well with Shieldmaiden's appearance. 

  
  


One by one, robes flew unseemly across the room, each one an undignified sort of bird flapping clumsily and abundantly on its way down. She began to despair of ever finding a suitable garment for the all-fired important feast; her eyes locked on a bright patch of color in an otherwise darksome wardrobe. Taking it out, she saw that it was certainly, what was the word for it...yes....unconventional. A fiery scarlet red in hue, it would highlight her cheekbones and hair to good effect. Quickly divesting herself of her slightly soiled and more than slightly wrinkled robe, she donned the scarlet number, feeling the cool sensation of fabric sliding over her flesh. Fully sheathed in the new gown, she turned to regard herself in the mirror.

  
  


"Not bad..," she mumbled, squinting critically. "Now the hair and face."

  
  


Braiding two of the foremost locks hair on either side of her face level with her eyes, she brought the braids together in the back. Repeating this process again and again, there was an intricate pattern woven of hair atop more hair that cascaded down her back. It was a pleasing effect, she decided. A slight touch of carmine on the lips, too much would not do anything but take away the impact of the gown. Perhaps a little bit of kohl? Yes, kohl could even make men more alluring. Just a little bit though...too much had a tendency to make her eyes look sunken like that of a walking dead. There.

  
  


Again, she stared at the image in the mirror. It was, she was, passion in all its forms. At once confined and wild, faint and overwhelming, but always heady and ripe, with a lust for life. She had felt that once, and she wanted desperately to feel it again. To grasp that almost tangible thread of sensation and ride with it. 

  
  


In one swift motion her closed fist struck the mirror. It cracked in many myriads of directions, but no shards fell out of place; in the image now presented she was fractured in so many pieces she could not count them, each section hazy, almost touching but never quite there. This, she found, was the true image of herself. What had happened? she wondered. It had never been this way before.

  
  


As she left her chambers for the festal hall, she decided something.

  
  


Things change.


	2. Chapter Second

Chapter Second

Upon entering, Eowyn was struck by how grandiose the festal hall was; alone, it was almost as large as the Golden Hall in Rohan. She felt sick again; how could she have ever hoped to win against a woman used to adornments such as this? The gilded torches, the ornately carved stone, it all screamed of class, and power like her own small kingdom never had. Was she the hall in Edoras, and Arwen the elegant spectacle and majesty that surrounded Eowyn at this very moment and assailed her vision? Her slender fingers touched the cool stone of the chamber, caressing and trailing down the smooth surface like the tentative embrace of the dying.

The pale rock siphoned the heat of her hand away, leaving a marked contrast between the rapidly growing heat of the packed festal hall, and the numbness beginning to set in at the very tips of her fingers. The fine blonde hairs at the nape of her neck began to prickle, and her entire body heated up as she realized that all eyes were on her slim form. Raising her head, she met the eyes of a few of her unusually attentive audience and saw something that shocked her; primal, unveiled, desire. It burned darkly in the eyes of most of the lords gathered, and, to Eowyn's startlement, quite a few of the women. Then, she remembered that tonight she was not herself, and a seductive curl worked its way onto her slick red lips.

Her stride changed, became more deliberate, the slightly accentuated swaying of her hips the cause of more than one muffled gulp in the charged silence. Wheat colored locks waved and rippled, enticing as she purposefully gave her head a slow shake, tilting it back slightly to bare an alabaster neck. The shieldmaiden paused short of the grand table as the herald seemed to come to his senses and announce her.

"The Lady Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, daughter of Eomund and sister to King Eomer, Lord of the Riddermark."

Rustling noises pervaded the hall, as the lords, always chivalrous, stood upon her arrival. Bestowing the perfunctory nod to the table at large, she sauntered up to the head of the table where her seat had been reserved for her.

It was a good thing that she had determined to be something else tonight, because she was sure that the normal Eowyn would have passed out at this new trial that had been placed before her. At the right sat King Ara-...Elessar now, she corrected herself mentally, and at Aragorn's right was Faramir. Of course, on the king's left was Queen Arwen, and to the elf's left was an empty seat. Her seat, Eowyn thought dully. The shieldmaiden within began to panic, paroxysms of doubt beginning to worm their way into her senses, prompting Lady Passion to rare her seductive head and mock the shriveling woman hiding within. 'What of it? You bow before no one tonight. Take pleasure where it pleases you and do not let this queen faze you. Now sit.' The voiced ordered calmly, and again the Eowyn who had more fears than anybody would ever know was hidden inside the shell of the red-clothed siren.

Without conscious thought, Eowyn moved to face Arwen, standing to the side of the delicate throne. When those clear azure eyes met hers, she spoke, voice slightly deeper, smokier, than usual.

"Congratulations to you on this joyous day, My Queen and King." She dipped into a curtsy, scarlet silk flaring outwards in a cascade. She raised her head to regard the elf woman. Arwen was staring through her again, as if measuring. 'Measuring what?' Eowyn wondered idly. 'My soul, my worth, my truth? It is said that her father and grandmother can gaze into the hearts of men. Would it truly be a surprise if she can as well?' She stood idly for what seemed like an eternity, unconsciously memorizing every curve and dip in the queen's face, until Arwen smiled.

" We thank you, Lady Eowyn, and hope upon you the joy that we have found. Now, it would not do for you to stand all night, please, seat yourself, and partake of our table." Arwen's voice, honey-like, wove its way into Eowyn, causing the shieldmaiden to choke internally. 'Does she have that effect on everybody?' Wildly, she turned around to see a table of besotted males and adoring females. 'Apparently so.' Gracefully, she nodded as she shifted to seat herself into the smooth wooden chair.

The next span of time passed in a haze for Eowyn; she remembered vaguely at least three types of capon, countless decadent courses which she ate numbly until she was full to bursting though she still felt empty inside. The conversation, she recalled, was not the most verbose she had ever participated in, however, it suited her, as she wasn't really the type for idle conversation. Instead, she had observed the others through her stupor, sipping frequently from the hammered gold goblet before her, which the server had taken care to keep full. Queen Arwen was every bit the able and gracious lady, conversing quite charmingly with all those in her immediate vicinity who addressed her, always taking time to direct fond smiles at Aragorn. The king himself was also quite adept at the art of colloquialism, easily conversing with Faramir and Eomer. He even took the pains of asking Eowyn a question, the polite query obligating her into at least a few minutes of conversation where she tried valiantly to shove down the feelings of bitterness and desire. Fortunately, a lordling from some minor holding in Gondor's western reaches had the bad form to address an issue to King Aragorn at his wedding feast, sparing Eowyn the further torture. 'Praise the gods for men without social tact!' she thought gratefully, just as the cupbearer arrived. Her gray eyes watched the server fill her goblet yet again, and she noticed that the neutrally dressed woman would not meet her eyes. By this time in the night, Eowyn had already imbibed quite a quantity of the rich wine, and was feeling even more confident than before. Smoothly, she shot her hand out, marveling as she actually grasped the cupbearer's cheek rather than missing completely and making a fool of herself.

Gently, she forced the young woman to face her. Lust filled the woman's hazel eyes, causing Eowyn to narrow her own eyes speculatively at her own effect. Her lips curved into a smirk and she smoothly lowered the other woman's head, raising slightly to deliver a chaste kiss upon a bared cheek. As she released her tender grasp on the cupbearer's chin she trailed a slight breath across the exposed flesh of the woman's flesh, causing it to prickle as hands convulsed around the wine pitcher to keep it from falling.

"Thank you for keeping my goblet filled, lady."

Shivering perceptibly from crown to toe, the poor cupbearer nodded silently and then left to fill another goblet, admirably stumbling only once. Eowyn chuckled to herself, lowering her head once again to gaze at the diners.

Arwen was, in turn, staring at her, one brow raised in question. The blonde-haired woman held Arwen's gaze until Arwen seemed to answer the question for herself, smiling quietly and turning back to Aragorn, who didn't notice the interchange. A few moments of conversation passed between the King and his Queen, and then the ruler stood, tall figure causing all conversation to cease.

"Friends, my Queen and I thank you for blessing this day with your presence. After this excellent meal we would like you to join us for dancing." King Aragorn smiled broadly, and then clapped his calloused hands together twice. "Clear the tables please!"

Eowyn giggled silently at the courtesy the king paid to his servants, unaccustomed to seeing royalty being so kind to palace servants. They loved him already, she could tell by the way they hastened to clear the massive surface. Before she realized it, the table was entirely clear and the servants were straining as a group to lift the table and move it away, exposing the polished floor beneath. Bored even by these moments of inactivity, she located the woman who had been acting as her cupbearer earlier and glided over, causing the woman to almost drop the edge of her table as Eowyn subtly shifted to glide a hip against the woman's upper thigh. Hands darting out to catch and steady the woman's share of the table, she murmured softly in her ear.

"Careful now, lady. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

The woman ducked her head.

"Milady, you needn't concern yourself with me...." Eowyn had to strain to catch the woman's whispered words.

"Nonsense. Do you have a name, little mouse?" She released the table when she was sure that the woman had a secure grip on it.

"Sorreine, m'lady."

Eowyn smiled. "Well, you have a nice night, Sorreine. Perhaps I shall meet you again sometime."

She took her leave then, stepping back. Lords and ladies were already flooding the dance floor, tentative about approaching each other, but realizing that this was a night where they need not dance with their significant others. 'Well...this won't do at all,' thought Eowyn. She looked for a target, and found one.

Her mark sighted, she moved gracefully towards him, stopping inches away to wrap a pale arm around his neck, bringing his head level with her lush red lips.

"Care to dance, my lord?" She kept her voice soft and husky.

The spicy scent emanating from her rendered him speechless, able only to nod blindly and lead her rather ineptly onto the nearest patch of bare floor, where he proceeded to lead her in a barely adequate semblance of dance. She let out a mental sigh of relief when the number ended, but still had the presence of mind to caress the tops of his shoulders easily and give her thanks in her seductive voice, causing the man to near pass out from euphoria.

Three dances with men of varying ability later, she cast about for a victim, eyes falling on a timid looking woman trying to hide in the corner of the hall. Newfound and quite probably temporary confidence in place, Eowyn made her way towards the woman, space clearing around her as if by magic.

The lady glanced up, shocked as Eowyn's slender hand appeared in her field of vision. Drawing from her observations of the gentlemen, she offered the still bewildered woman a deep bow.

"I grow weary of traipsing about the floor with these lovely, blundering males....Would you?" Blinking once, twice, the small brunette seemed to pass Eowyn's question through five mental translators before finally nodding and placing her hand into Eowyn's slightly larger one.

The other woman's reticence convinced her that she was playing the part of the male this time; Eowyn gracefully whirled the woman about the dance floor, her scarlet gown contrasting beautifully with the pale green of her dance partner's attire. The woman seemed surprised that Eowyn led this well, which was reasonable considering that few women ever led in dances. 'Well I didn't hang around the boys for nothing!' Eowyn thought wickedly as she smirked. As if on cue, her body took control, hips subtly grinding into the other woman's, producing a quiet gasp. 'Definitely didn't hang around the boys for nothing.'

A few minutes later, she released the woman, leaving the silent woman with a kiss of the hand in a puddle of bitter arousal. 'The women dance better than the men.' Eowyn realized, and looked around for another dance partner.

Several candlemarks later, a buzz had arisen about the scarlet woman, the Lady from Rohan, who was seducing the lords and the ladies left and right, and a good number of those present waiting hopefully for her to approach them, part of them perhaps sensing that she would be the one to approach, and not daring to do so themselves.

It was in this loaded atmosphere that Eowyn thrived confidently, more than a little inebriated, yet in remarkable control of her bodily functions. She moved about, looking for the next in an already long line when those surrounding her stepped away, leaving a considerable amount of space around her. Puzzled, she paused in her movement.

A hand tapped her shoulder gently. She whirled.

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A/N: Finally, chapter 2! Wakaka. Right now, I'm more than a little ashamed of the "Festal night" Eowyn...the shameless hussy . But see?? I left ya'll in suspense! gasp Guess who it is! No! You'll never guess! (Yeah right lol. It's so obvious.) Actually, I could just as easily keep going within the same chapter, but you know what, guysh? It's late and it would have taken forever to find another cut-off point, so there you go. Victim of circumstance, my poor chapter two. So, tell me what you think and I'll get up three as soon as possible. Note the pen name change, ya'll! Go goinne dia thu. 

S.


	3. Chapter Third

Disclaimer: sigh....it's not mine, okay? If it was...the story would be EVEN MORE interesting, to say the least... g

A/N: So this picks up where the last chapter left off, and a slight deepening of the tension, but yet, it's still slow, because I detest fics that just feature mindless sex. Questions, comments, omissions? You know what to do mates!

Chapter Third

"Lady Eowyn."

The alto voice was slightly husky, a whisper on the air, one of those voices that made the listener lean inexorably closer, as if afraid they might miss a word. And so, Eowyn found herself gravitating gradually closer, moment by moment, to the voice's owner, until she could smell clearly the subtle scent of lavender and enduring life. It was...intoxicating, and she was already more than a little tipsy.

She curtsied, only stumbling slightly. One victory for the shieldmaiden, Eowyn thought.

"Your majesty. How may I serve you, Queen Arwen?"

The shieldmaiden struggled to pronounce the words clearly through a throat suddenly dry. The Queen of Gondor was magnificent; clad in a deep blue robe the same shade as her ancient eyes, Arwen Undomiel seemed more solid, more real, than everybody else, even as she seemed more ethereal. In her mind, Eowyn had the strange idea that the elf seemed half there because her robe had a diaphanous overlayer. She next wondered if the elf had been biting her lips, so full and red they appeared.

"Will you not ask me to dance? It seems as though you have asked everybody else already."

Eowyn thought quickly. Drunk though she was, she didn't think she could last through a dance with the beautiful elf lady.

"What of my lord Aragorn, does he not wish to dance with you on this auspicious night, my Queen?"

The Evenstar laughed, and her honeyed voice rang like stars singing the songs of the ages. She leaned closer, and the shorter, scarlet-clad woman was rooted in place.

"You have started a fire, White Lady of Rohan. Elessar, he now follows in your blaze and dances with Legolas Thranduilion."

Gray eyes wide, Eowyn searched the dance floor and found it to be true. The dark-haired warrior was laughing and dancing with the tow-headed Firstborn, whose beauty cut like a knife. And the shieldmaiden, veteran of many battles, knew when she was trapped. By the look of repressed desire she could see shining minutely, though clearly, in Prince Legolas' eyes, she had the feeling he was feeling quite the prey himself. Jealously, she searched Aragorn's eyes for the same desire, and with a strange sense of relief flooding her body, she found none. Then the king's head turned, and dark eyes locked on the slender form of his queen. Stabs of pain made her gray eyes feel red as the shieldmaiden saw lust and love bloom in the former ranger's eyes. Quickly the shieldmaiden came to a decision. The Queen was merely being sociable, and Eowyn would look like a fool to be so reticent. It wasn't as if the wife of Elessar Telcontar was lusting after her, for Eorl's sake.

Gracefully, she bowed.

"Let it not be said that Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, whom many call the White Lady of Rohan for whatever reason, showed discourtesy to the Queen of Gondor." She extended one hand, holding it in the air, gasping only slightly when Arwen's pale, slender hand clasped it.

Eowyn had a plan, and it was really quite simple. One dance, with as much distance as possible without seeming rude, and then she could politely excuse herself. As soon as the dance began, Eowyn realized that someone had failed to inform Arwen of her plan.

The elf seemed determined to make Eowyn uncomfortable, draping long arms about Eowyn's neck so they were only inches apart. The thin, smooth fabric of Arwen's gown glided incessantly over Eowyn's bare shoulders, driving the shieldmaiden crazy with distraction and it felt as if the cloud of lavender, that unique scent of Arwen would do the same.

The husky voice whispered in her ear, causing her to jump slightly in startlement.

"You lead well, for a lady, Lady Eowyn." The compliment was accompanied by a soft smile.

Thoughts lost, Eowyn scrambled wildly for a suitable reply.

"Thank you, my Queen. Growing up around men, perhaps I learned things that I should not have."

The queen cocked her head slightly, questioning. Full lips separated slightly, showing glimpses of pearl white teeth, as if the elf was about to ask an important question, and Eowyn's eyes narrowed, concentrating on the next words that would come out of Arwen's mouth.

The music ended, and Arwen's mouth closed in another smile as she relinquished Eowyn.

Silence pounded in the blonde's ears, growing hotter and louder, more frantic, until her breaths came in tiny gasps, as the dark elf watched on with a glimmer of concern in her azure eyes.

"I-...I've got to get out of here!" Eowyn's voice was harsh, causing several to turn and stare at the duo. Arwen said nothing, and still remained silent when Eowyn whirled around and, for lack of a better expression, tucked her tail between her legs and ran.

A speculative cast came over the Queen's face. She nodded slightly, to no one in particular. Something about this woman made Arwen think she could be a friend, though the blonde ran from her now. Eowyn of Rohan was so full of life, so passionate...changing like the tides.

"I want to know you, White Lady of Rohan." Arwen murmured, before turning to join her husband once more.


End file.
